


The four resorts

by uddelhexe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: About the secret around Death-Empty-God-Darkness, Castiel Whump, Coda, Dean gets his shit together, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Gen, Mentioned Chuck, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, What is it Billie wants to talk about, Whump, Written in the aftershock to watching Moriah, Zombies, maybe tiny bits of slight destiel-ish vibes?, no.of planed chapters can grow, s15 theorie, teamfreewill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-02-07 10:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18618880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uddelhexe/pseuds/uddelhexe
Summary: Chuck just killed Jack and revealed that the life of TFW was nothing but a game-plot for him.While Sam,Dean and Castiel are surrounded by newly awoken enemies, Jack wakes up in The Empty. And there is Death. And Death wants to talk.Because Billie and her brother have something they want Jack to do.Or the universe is in grave danger.





	1. The four resorts

**Author's Note:**

> NEWS:The fic now officially is a multichapter and I have a BETA!! She'll beta the already posted chapter as well and all that come new  
> Thanks to my new Beta: CS_impala67  
> \------------
> 
> The season finale of S14 was a rollercoster-ride.
> 
> All in all: Dean still behaved like an asshole against Cas, which I want him to apologize for in S15 or he gets a slap from me.
> 
> I am happy that Dean came somehow back to his senses and didn’t murder Jack. Good job, but hell did that take you long to get that in that big hard skull of yours!
> 
> Cas was nothing but the best “human” in the last eps. The only one practicing real parenthood. The only one practicing real love and family. The only one practicing free will. Good Job, angel! You came a long way and you mastered humanity better than the humans did.
> 
> Sam was so shocked by all of what happened to Jack in previous ep’s that he was in sort of a shock. Dean waltzed over his feelings like he did with Cas and it took until last ep when Sam finally woke up, and stood up again. Bravo Sam. You did good. You’ve always been the heart and brain of TFW.
> 
> Jack: I’m so sorry humanity failed you. And angels too. I hope you’ll get your peace in S15!
> 
> Soo…back to my fan theory for what will happen in S15:

* * *

 

„Hello Jack, we have to talk.“

Billie hold her scythe tight and smiled.

The sesond entity, a black figure standing in front of him, lifted his finger to his face and painted a deformed grin on his previous empty feature.

Jack wasn’t sure if it was meant to be assuring or if the entity wanted to freak him out.

He remembered being in pain. Feeling fire inside his very being. Moments ago, when the person radiating power and glory had snipped his fingers with a grin.

The person he knew was Chuck. The person who was sort of is grandfather. The father of all creation.

Somehow he had imagined him to be different and he didn’t really understand, why Dean had been so upset all of a sudden. Only seconds ago Dean had stood before him, gun raised, willing to kill him.

He’d told him he’d understand and he had,

It had been too difficult. All of it. Jack remembered that all he ever had wanted to become was a good person. The person his mother had wanted him to be. Someone changing the world for the better. But without his soul he’d struggled to understand what it truly meant to be good.

He’d tried so hard. He’d followed others, whom he’d thought would know. But he had been wrong. They all had used him. Had been afraid.

All the people he had trusted had lied to him.

All but one. Only Castiel only ever had loved him. Without hesitance. Without fear but with the deep believe that he would be able to fix his son. To be able to help him become that person, he always wanted to be.

Jack knew, that with a soul, his love for Castiel would be doubtless.

All that was good in the human world, all that was love and trust and the showcase of free will, was Castiel. All of it.

Jack raised his chin to look at the black woman with the SENSE. She seemed to be waiting for something.

 

“You’re Death, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Billie answered in her soothing voice. In her eyes there was no hate or fear. It was just infinity and wisdom of the things to come and of all that was.

 

On the other side the Empty, Jack remembered the entity quite good from his short time in heaven, still tried to grimace what was supposed to be a smile. Jack really wanted to tell the black bulk to stop this unhuman display of emotion, but he didn’t dare to.

He wasn’t able to really feel fear, but he didn’t want to lose the opportunity to get to know, why Death had come to the Empty to talk to him.

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

Billy sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She seemed to think about how to explain herself in a way so that a partly mortal and intellectual limited creature was able to understand her.

 

“You know, boy, all the universe is about balance. I like balance a lot. There is some things that are just…they have to stay certain ways. Without all of us obeying to said rules, the existence itself begins to wave and falter and at the end…how can I put it simple…we all go poof.”

 

“Poof?”

 

“Poof. What do you know about god?”

 

“He…he’s the creator of the universe. He created life and the angels…and everything. He’s my grandfather actually. He killed me to rescue the world.”

 

A shrieking voice imitated the sound of a giggle behind him. The Empty seemed to find his statement rather amusing. If Jack still had his soul, he was sure that he’d find the sound very unsettling.

 

“Yeah…Jack. I can call you Jack, can’t I? Jack, God is not exactly that kind of…being. We are four entities who reign over separate parts of existence. And we all have our ressorts. And normally we stay in said resorts. It is important that we do.

One entity has no power in the department of the other. That is important too. But lately one of us is…how can I put it…poaching in the others departments. And that can’t be tolerated, because it destabilizes the system.”

 

“What are the four departments?”

 

“It is of course my humble task to end life and push around the energy into the right places. Our friend here, The Empty, takes in creatures made by God himself and surrounds existence with…his body to secure it from floating out. Then there is The Darkness and counterweight to Creation. While God is loud and is growth…she’s the still and the silence.

At the end it will be me and the Empty…nor more noise or silence. And maybe it all begins anew. Who knows.”

 

“So you’re telling me, that one day you’ll reap God and his sister?”

 

“Sure. But their time has not come yet…and as I told you… I like things to be in order. Think of it like this. God and Darkness are siblings. So are the Empty and me. And God is a rather playful character.”

 

“I always was annoyed by this,” the scratching voice of The Empty added unamused.

 

“And most of the time we let him be. Let him have his fun, but lately he’s going overboard with the things he’s doing. He is interrupting too much of creation for his entertainment. He’s changing the rules constantly, changing setting and playing with souls that belong to my resort, just to challenge the Winchesters. That has to stop. Now!”

 

“I don’t understand…”

 

“You’re stronger then you think, when you have your soul. And we’re not allowed to directly interfere with God, balance and all that,…so…my brother and I decided that you should have a try.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Stopping God from becoming a cancer to universe. Stop him and put him in line. Stop him messing around with life and death as he pleases! Give this realm his peace again.”

 

“You think I can do that?”

 

“Not without your soul. You’ll be too weak and not able to make wise decisions. You have to feel what is right on your own. You have to search for a way on your own.”

 

“You’re not going to help me?”

 

“Oh…we will help you. God didn’t restore your soul because he was afraid of you. But I have no such fear, neither has my brother.”

 

“You…you’ll give me my soul back?”

 

“We’ll forge you a new one. It will take a little time. And after that…you’ll put our friendly neighborhood entity…”

 

“Hey, that’s my part,” complained The Empty.

 

Billy rolled her eyes loud enough to be heard in all of the multiverse.

 

“You put “Chuck” back in his place! Enough with his writing fantasies. He has to go back to what he was meant to be: A creator and watcher.”

 

“When will you begin to forge my new soul.”

 

“Oh boy…we already began….”

 

 

 

 

 

**_To be continued??_ **


	2. Zombicalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene switch to Castiel, Dean and Sam fighting at the graveyard.
> 
> Zombi movies lied: they are not slow...

* * *

 

Snap.

Welcome to the end.

The sky had went dark from one second the next. If it really was night or if the bad things, crawling out of the depths of hell were darkening the world, Dean didn’t know.

Souls from Hell, Cas had said. The ground beneath their feet had opened…crack for crack…and had begun to release dark and red glowing shadows. Bitterness and the taste of hate began to fill the air. The smell that made Dean want to puke mixed up with the typical scent of sulfur he knew too well.

Castiel raised from his crouched position beside Jack’s burned body. Dean had seen the utter sadness in the angel’s eyes…the devastation and he honestly had no idea how Castiel at all was able to look ready to fight only seconds later. Drawing his angel blade, a determined look in his eyes.

An urge, a feeling he had subdued for quite some time in the last months suddenly made appearance in his consciousness again. He wanted to touch Cas…wanted to tell him it was ok. That everything would work out at the end. That he was family.

But he didn’t. Not because he wanted to be a dick...but there were even more crucial matters at hand to worry about.

Which were for one thing a damn bunch of fucking Zombies stomping towards them. Dead bodies, filled up with evil spirits from head to toe walking around like the representation of every shitty Zombicalypse horror movie, groaning and moaning voicelessly. And, of fucking course, the three of them were right in the middle of this unholy spectacle.

Dean had broken off some rusty bars from a nearby fence and given one to of them to Sam. He hoped that his brother was able to fight with that damn hole in his left shoulder. Not that it seemed like some life endangering injury. He knew Sam probably would be able to handle this. He had been able to with much worse wounds.

But that were really, like really, a lot of dead, non-amused looking bodies walking around.

_Chuck, you frigg’n motherfucker!_

They were rounded up by the horde of stinking spirits in their rotting meat-suits, now standing back to back. Ready to fight.

Not that there were another options available right now. The next moment Dean could remember, the horde very abruptly attacked.

One last conscious thought before going right into survive- mode was, that Zombie movies were shitty liars when it came to how fast dead bodies were able to move. As it showed now…they were damn fast. And furious. No pun intended.

They grabbed and jumped, kicked and bite (at least this was quite a correct presentation in film). They also were rather strong.

He swirled and his iron bar ungently met some heads. There was no blood. Of course there wasn’t. Dried out years ago probably. It was just dead flesh splashing around, eyes flying out of their sockets and luckily some necks cracking. At least that seemed to slow them down  a bit.

Sam had taken out some Zombies despite his injured shoulder. He had begun to hit whatever he could reach. Kick the motherfuckers back. But they didn’t really die.

_Of course not._

They simply stood up again and continued attacking them. They had to find a way to kill them! Like permanently. A hasty thought crossed Dean’s mind. Years of hunting, training and fighting finally kicking in in full strength and the first thought that came up was: Fire!

At the end this were souls in bodies…and burn the body equals get rid of the souls.

“Sam,” he shouted franticly, “Fire!”

“What?”

Sam began to spurt some heavy black eyes and his nose was bleeding. Dean was hardly able to see his brother thought, buried under a mountain of moving and gasping, not to mention stinking, bodies.

“We have to burn them!” Dean tried again.

“Dean!”

Dean tried to look for Castiel, whose voice just had shouted for him. He couldn’t really see him. But he could see bodies flying away from a spot close to him. This had to be the angel using his superior strength to give himself some more room.

“Cas?”

Hit. Pain. Strike.

“Dean! Sam! Close your eyes!”

What? Why?

Oh!

“Sam!” Dean shouted.

“Yeah! Got it!”

Dean really, really hoped that Castiel knew what he was doing, because fighting Zombies who might or might not like to eat your brain was something he really didn’t like to do with closed eyes. His world went dark and one of the attackers bit him in the arm. That fucking hurt!

“Cas!”

One moment later hell broke loose. Not the literal hell, but another one. Dean could feel the little hairs on his skin raise and a static prickle crawled up his spine. Through the membrane of his closed eyes he perceived the intense light that he knew was Castiel fighting with his grace. It flashed up again and again. Constantly burning hotter in his eyes. He tried to close them harder.

He heard Castiel screaming loud and angry. The fierce of a warrior smiting his enemies. Glorious in his wrath. He felt the wave of celestial energy emanating  from the angel.

Flash. Flash.

Dean still had to battle against his own combatants, but he registered that the pressure was beginning to subside.

“Sam?” He had to know if Sam was ok!

“Busy,” Sam shouted back. Ok. He sounded just fine. For a Winchester in the middle of a fight, that is.

It felt like hours Castiel needed to angel-berserk the Zombie pack, but at one moment what seemed like forever, there was nobody trying to bite Dean anymore. And a last thud of a falling body could be heard. However Dean did not dare to open his eyes to the risk of burned our sockets.

With outstretched arms, bar still raised ready to kill, he didn’t move.  He was breathing heavily and his lungs felt like acid had just burned them. If it was more out of exhaustion or because of the sulfur still filling the air, he didn’t know.

“Everybody alive? Everybody…that should be…alive?”

Still prepared for some last monster to attack, he waited. He already began to willingly slow down his breath. Something one learned when being in fights constantly. A warrior had to be as calm as possible and be responsible with his resources.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

There was someone else taking in air desperately. Dean hoped that was a sign that Sam also was still kicking.

“Still alive,” Sam finally managed to wheeze.

“Cas? Can we open our eyes now?”

Breathing.

“Cas?”

Dean didn’t like how long it the angel took to answer, but finally Cas’s rough voice could be heard:

“Yes. Open them.”

Ok. If it hadn’t been the third apocalypse they were facing, Dean sure as hell had made a comment on how badass that battleground was looking.

Cas was standing in the middle of a pile build up from human bodies. Sockets empty and some still smoking.  All over the ground around them corpses were scattered. The clefts left from Chuck releasing hells souls were still open, but not glowing any more.

Dean and Sam looked at each other.

This was bad. Really bad.

In all their time on this planet they had royally pissed of a lot of people. Ghosts, spirits, angels, Demi-Gods, demons…but Chuck was another level of bad. He was probably on top of the “Entities you never should piss of”-List.

“And now,” Sam asked his brother, still holding his shoulder. Sammy was looking like shit.

Dean had no idea. Why did Sammy ask him that? Not that his last bright ideas, such as “Let’s put Jack into a box” or “try to kill a Nephilim”, had worked out so well.

He knew he would have to face some deeply unpleasant feelings in the near future, closely interrelated to that specific matter, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about that yet.

God had just killed Jack. Had just revealed that his life, and the lifes of his family and friends had been nothing but a fucking computer-live-action-game for Chuck. A writer playing around with his favorite protagonists.

He had been manipulated. And worst of all: he hadn’t realized it! He had just played the role Chuck had given to him and he felt damn horrible about that.

Abused.

Hollow.

How much of what had happened in his life had really been his own decision? Had Chuck manipulated him in his choices? Or had he just changed the stage and actors around to see how Dean would react? Played them like figures on a board.

Dean felt suddenly nauseous.

He thought about how Sam had looked at him the last weeks. How he had broken with Cas, because he hadn’t been able to deal with all that any more. Because he had felt so broken and hurt and weak, that he hadn’t been able to open up to anybody anymore.

He had exactly acted like his father had taught him a strong man would do.

Despite the fact that he knew how shitty the persons on the other end of this would feel about that. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Like he had been watching from outside in every conflict and argument. How he had seen himself harden and getting colder and colder, but hadn’t been able to stop it.

Now that shell he had built up began to crackle.

Jack was dead. The Nephilim who had looked him straight in the eyes and had told him he’d understand if he’d murder him…

He didn’t know how he ever was supposed to live with that. He’d thought he could do it. That it had been the right and only thing to do. Though Cas and Sam had told him it was wrong. That there had to been other ways. Better ways.

And deep inside perhaps he had known, that it was wrong. That something was off. That he should stop and just talk with Sammy and talk with Cas and find a solution together, but he hadn’t been able to stop.

He didn’t dare to search for Jack’s body. He wasn’t sure how he would handle looking at his body.

Dean was sure that, though Chuck had murdered him in the end, it always would feel as if it was his fault that the Nephilim was dead.

That he should’ve found another way. That he had failed them all.

Sam shouting the angel’s name pulled Dean out of his dark thoughts.

“Cas!”

Dean hadn’t recognized that Sam had made his way towards the angel. Cas hadn’t moved or said a word since he had told them to open their eyes. He looked pale. His skin grey and his eyes tired, with dark rings underneath. He was still panting, but in a feeble way that showed that he was close to the point of passing out.

The second Sam had called for him, he’d began to sink down. His knees slowly bending  and his frame falling over. The younger Winchester was able to catch him before he hit the ground.

Shit.

Dean shook himself out of his stupor and ran over to help Sam manhandling Cas. Close up the angel looked like someone or something had chewed him up and spit him right out afterwards. Not that Dean had the illusion that he was of any better. His arm hurt like a bitch and his face felt like mashed potatoes. He also had the strong feeling his ankle could be sprained. Sam looked even worse than he felt.

Team Free Wil, my ass!

“What’s the matter with him?” Dean asked his brother. Sam was still able to throw some bitch face at him.

“Do I look like an angel-doctor to you? Probably he overworked himself. Smiting the army of the Walking Dead and beforehand trying to heal…” Sam stopped. Dean could see he was fighting not to cry.

It all came down now. All that had happened. How screwed they were and what they had lost. Someone had to be strong now. Sammy could not do that. It had to be him.

“Sammy…”

“No, Dean. I know what you want to say. And we will talk about it. But…not now. We take Cas and get the hell away from here. And we take…we take Jack. I will not let him rot here with all these monsters.”

“I know.”

“Because he deserves a funeral, Dean.”

“I know.”

“Because he was one of us. He was family!”

“….I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lie flat with my knee after surgery. It may happen that I can write an post the third chapter in the next week. But no promisses. For I want there to be whump, and hurt and emotion...i have to be in the right mood to write it.  
> May be that i will contiue in this verse if the time is there. And if i have ideas for my version of a season 15.
> 
> I am always happy for feedback.
> 
> This chapter is not edited by my beta.


	3. Decitions are made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam bring an unconcious Castiel and a dead Jack back to the bunker.  
> Dean thinks a lot about what had happened and Sam realises, that the trust in his brother is damaged.
> 
> Dean makes a decision that could change their lifes.  
> So does Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry i needed this long. I had to be in the mood for this. I wanted to bring at least this chapter out before the last season actually starts. I try to write on this fic the next days, before the actual season messes up my thoughts too much.
> 
> I think a lot about what made Dean act like he did and how he'd feel about it when things cool down. How he treated his brother and Cas. I want the righteous man back. I want the bond between him and cas back. I want leader Sam back.  
> Idk what will happen, because it happens the moment i write it.  
> So bare with me...let's see what TFW will be able to do.
> 
> I need comments on this. Because it is really emotional for me and i need encouragement like air!!
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. :-)

* * *

 

The ride back to the bunker was a quite one. But it was a loud silence that was about to crush Dean in a way that made his head ache. He had the impression he was about to feel it physically straining him. He knew that coming home this time was not the good experience it had become to be. Because there was no real home to get back to.

Not really.

And Dean began to understand, that part of this was his fault and that fucking hurt like a bitch. And there was nothing he could do about it right now. He knew he had to talk to Sam. At some point, if possible, to Cas.

Because there was a fucking mess about to happen on this planet if they were not able to stop it. And one thing Dean was pretty sure of: that was something they only would be able to accomplish as a Team.

Together.

How the last month had gone down: that was something Dean would need to get over. Because in retrospect, he didn’t like the person he had become. Not a bit. Every fiber of him screamed, that he was becoming like John. And not in the good way. Only in the worst ways possible.

He’d forced his teammates, his family, to surrender under his command. Had not taken any words from Sam or Cas. Had not told them what was going on in his head. Because again he’d thought, that it’d been his task to handle all this alone.

How wrong he’d been.

If he remembered correctly: every time in the past when any of them had tried to act like that, people had gotten hurt and their family had gotten separated, their bonds broken.

Why had he forgotten about this? Was that really all because of Chucks shitty writing skills, or was it all on him? Did he really have a chance to change a bit of what had happened?

 

* * *

It was not the longest ride they had to make before they entered the garage of the bunker with the Impala and Castiel’s truck in row. Castiel still out like a light in the backseat of Dean’s car. Jack on the backseat in Castiel’s truck.

Because Dean hadn’t been able to touch him or bare the thought of the dead child in his car. Because that was what Jack was. A child, who’d trusted him with his life.

Had trusted him, when he’d gone into that box. A child that had kneeled before him, telling him that he’d understand if he shoot him.

Dean screwed his eyes shut and clenched his fingers around the steering wheel until his bloody knuckles went white. He wasn’t able to make the pictures go away. He wasn’t able to block out the screaming voice of Jack when his eyes and his grace and the rest of his soul was burned out of his body.  How Cas had tried to save him, when there was not point. Not against Chuck.

 

A knocking at the driver’s window pulled him out of his dreadful thoughts. Sam opened the door of the Impala and looked like he really’d love to keel over any moment. He held his shoulder, that was still bleeding a bit. No wonder after the strains of a fight against zombies. Dean sighed: “ Sam, you should go and rest. I get Cas in his room and get the first aid kit…”

“I’ll help you with Cas. “

“The hell you’ll help! At the end i’ve to carry both oft you and i’m too fucking tired to do that.”

Sam nodded in defeat. He normaly would argue more, but Dean had a point. Sam didn’t feel like carrying anything beyond his own body weight right now. And he wasn’t dumb or too proud to admit that. But somehow he felt bad about leaving Cas and Jack alone with Dean.  And he really felt like shit, that the relationship with his brother had reached a point where he ever considered to be concerned about the safety of Cas.

He shouldn’t be.

All this fucking mess never should’ve happened!

In some area of his messed up, tired and stressed brain he knew, that Dean would never hurt Cas on purpose. But he’d thought that about Dean and Jack as well. And hell, had he been wrong! But right now there was simply no reason for Dean to be dangerous to Castiel. Because the angel didn’t pose a threat to the brothers or humanity. If anything, Cas had only been on their side like ever.

Sam knew all that, but he also knew that he would have to talk to his brother at this point. And he couldn’t step back from this like he had before. Because he was sure, that he was the only one who was able to talk some sense into his stubborn big brother at this point. He’d seen the way Dean had acted. And it had frightened him to a point, were he’d been too shocked to fight back. Because that hadn’t been Dean talking to him, but his father. And he’d reacted like a freaked out child after chided by his parent.

But Dean had to stop! He had to stop to act like this! To become what he’d dreaded to be like all his life! Dean was Dean, not John.  Sam refused to think, that it was too late for his brother to acknowledge that and turn back. Back to the person he knew. Back to the brother he loved so much. Back to the brother he trusted with the life of his friends.

 

Dean watched his brother thinking and it hurt. Because he knew exactly why Sam was hesitating to go. Dean’d never wanted that to happen between them .

“I promise I’ll be good, ok? No more going on my own. OK?”

“I want to believe you so bad, Dean. But, you should’ve seen yourself. Your eyes! I’ve never, ever in my life see you like that. And I never want to witness this again.”

“Sam…”

“No, Dean. I’ve seen you at your worst. I’ve seen you as a fucking demon….but what I’ve seen in your eyes today: that was worse than all of this! I never want to see that again! NEVER!”

Dean was worn-out. He knew there was nothing he could say to make this right. Not now.

“Go, Sam. I get this sorted out and come to stich you up. Please.”

“OK, Dean.”

Dean could tell, Sam was tired and hurt and not only because his shoulder was bleeding. His little brother dragged himself off to the dormant wing without looking back. Only before he actually left the garage he turned back his head slightly to ask: “ What you do with Jack?” Dean looked down into his lap where his hands had fallen.

“There is nothing we can do. We’ve to bring his body out later anyways. I will cover him up on the truck.”

A short nod was all the answer Dean got from Sam before he left the garage. Dean was alone in the big hall that again shouted it’s silence at him with all it’s force. He turned around in his seat and watched Cas lying on the seat. His face was calm. As if he only was sleeping peacefully. But Dean was aware that this probably was far from the truth. He really hoped that whatever mental state the angel was in, didn’t include dreams of any sort. Because he would not be able to bear Cas screaming out Jack’s name in his sleep. Dreaming of his son being slaughtered by his father only to bring a plot to it’s end. Even John never had been that fucked-off. And that really was saying something.

“ ’k, Cas. Time to get you to bed. If you want to wake up now and walk on your own, this would be a good moment,” Dean told more himself, than the angel. Cas was not stirring. And he didn’t either when Dean opened the backseat-door and started to pull out the unconscious man.

“Boy, you’re heavy.” Dean had no idea why he couldn’t stop talking to himself. Probably to disturb this fucking silence that was about to suffocate him.

“Well, at least silence means: perhaps no demons, dead people or gods are attacking the bunker right now, huh? “ He really felt stupid. Like his own commentator. Like his life was some shitty soap and he was the background voice telling the audience what was going on. At least, he thought bitterly, that was closer to the truth than he felt comfortable with.  Who knew if the script had stopped at all? How were they supposed to know?

Dean looked at Castiel, whose legs were still in the car. Dean thought about fireman’s carry, but he felt uncomfortable to carry the angel like he would do with a heavy sack. And there were steps, so he could not just grab him under the shoulders and drag him along. Bridal-style it was. Though he’d joked about Cas being heavy, and he was, but Dean knew he was strong enough to carry his weight. It was not that far to Castiel’s room. He could make it. Even worn out as he was.

He scooped the angel’s legs up and corrected the grip one time to have Cas securely in his arms. Then he started walking. He didn’t bother to close the Impala’s doors, because he’d had to come back later anyways. To cover Jack with a sheet at least.

  When he walked down the corridor he recognized the rubble filling the floor. Right. Because Jack had burst the box. And a lot of the dungeon‘s wall with it. It stung to think about it. To picture the anger and hurt in Jack’s eyes.

Dean made the mistake to look at Cas unmoving face that lolled against his shoulder. Right. Cas had been there too. Had seen what he’d tried to do. And the emotions on the angels face were nothing he wanted to be reminded of ever. Because he’d make the angel look like this too often.

Dean still was unsure of how he’d been able to act like he’d done. What had ridden him?

 

Arrived in Castiel’s room, spare as it was, he let the angel down on his bed. He watched him lay there with his dirty clothes and shoes on. There was blood on his beige coat, and specks from gore at his sleeves. It felt wrong to let Cas sleep like this. Covered in filth of dead people. So Dean began to undress the angel at least from his stinking shoes and coat. Sleeping in a suite didn’t feel right too, so Dean took off the suit jacked as well and trapped the covers over Cas’s sleeping form. It felt strange to see the angel like this. Like the time when he’d been human. When he’d needed sleep and food.

_What will happen to the angels after Chuck went darkside anyways_ , Dean asked himself. If Chuck really was sort of omnipotent: why hadn’t he simply killed them all and started the game anew? Why had he not take away Castiel’s powers or killed him off for good as well? Chuck must’ve known, that they would try to stop him. Why would he risk that, even if the chances for them to succeed where slim?

 

With his thoughts in a spiral of questions, Dean switched off the light and went straight for Sam’s room. He would visit Jack after he’d cared for his brother’s injury.

Sam was still awake, lying on his bed. His shoulder bare and he was already cleaning the wound to the extend he was able to reach it. Silently Dean took the cloth with disinfect from Sam and continued cleaning the wound.  The bullet had gone through cleanly, without bursting the surrounding tissue. That was a plus and Dean grabbed needle and threat that Sam had already prepared as well, and started closing the hole. They would have to look for it not to get infected, but both Winchesters knew the drill too well. This was not one of the worst shooting wounds, that Sam had received in his hunting career. And as much as Dean hoped it would be the last, he rather doubted that that would be the case.

“How’s Cas,” the younger Winchester asked when Dean began to put away the kit. Dean didn’t look up from his task when he answered: “Still out. Didn’t as much as twitch when I took him. We’ll have to see at what time he’ll come around.”

“If…”

Dean paused in his movement and looked at Sam, brows in a hard line. That attitude wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“WHEN.”

“What if Chuck…”

“Fuck Chuck!” Dean all but shouted. „If he’d wanted Cas dead, he’d just burned him out, like he did with Jack. But he didn’t. I don’t care why, but he’ll come around eventually and we’ll be here and ready to talk about what we’re about to do about this shit that just went falling down at us.”

“As long as you mean with “we” that actually “WE” talk and decide: I am on board. But when you try to go all dictator on us again, then I’m out, and I am pretty sure, so is Cas. Because this isn’t how teamwork works. It is not even close to how leadership works.”

Hell, Sam wasn’t sure if Cas would even want to talk to them after all that had happened. He hoped the angel would. Like he always did. That Dean hadn’t been able to destroy the bond that was between them even after treating Cas like he didn’t matter at all.  Because Sam knew very well, that that wasn’t truly the case. Dean cared for the angel second to none on this world. Beside himself. Maybe Bobby, if he’d be around still. But like a true Winchester Dean was crap at showing his feelings properly. Luckily for Dean, Cas knew that.

If they wanted to have a chance to right this wrong, they would have to stick together.

Team Free Will.

Like it had been.

Because toghether they were strong.

Sam refused to believe that all of that had been just scripted reality. Otherwise Dean hadn’t been able to stop at the point he had, when he’d stand before Jack with the gun right in his hand, ready to shoot. Sam had seen how disappointed Chuck had been about Dean’s behavior. If Chuck had been able to just make them do something, Sam was sure that he’d done it.

But Chuck hadn’t. And there had to be a reason for that. And that reason, Sam thought, might be a point to start. To start defeating God.

 

Dean left Sam’s room in silence and Sam was thankful for that. Because he was to damn exhausted to handle Dean like this right now. Or himself. A few hours of sleep would be necessary after all that had gone down on them in the last days. Sam begged that Dean would go right to sleep as well and not straight for the kitchen to drown himself in alcohol.

 

* * *

“I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry. I…,“ the eldest Winchester wasn’t able to finish his sentence. He looked down on the body lying on the rack of Castiel’s truck. He’d covered all of the body but his face. Every time he tried to look at it, he began to feel nauseous. He didn’t understand why. This wasn’t even the worst corpse he’d seen in his life. It was fresh, hardly any gore or smell…

Why was this bothering his stomach so much? Oh yes, because it was his fault that he boy was dead. That the person he’d brought back from the dead and woven the energy of his soul into a life serving spell, had lost said soul and had not been able to control his powers without it.

And that instead of finding a way to deal with this as family, he’d decided that Jack’s life was beyond saving and he’d first tried to trap a three year old in a dark box by using his trust against him and after that to shoot him.

Moisture collected in the corner of his eyes when he covered the rest of Jack’s body. He should’ve been able to find another way. To save Jack’s soul. Or to just get rid of his powers for he sake oft everyone. Perhaps block them until they’d find a way to give him the control over his impulses back.

 

Logically Dean knew, that killing Mary had never been Jack’s intention. That it had been an accident, because he’d snapped like a mentally disabled person.  That he sure was the reason for his mother’s death, but that this didn’t mean he was at fault. Dean knew, that there was a difference between these two. But somehow he’d been so hurt, that he’d forgotten.  Coping had never been his strong suit. Or a strong suit for the Winchester men in general.

His father had coped with Mary’s death with starting a revenge tour with is traumatized children and stopping being a father. And Dean had coped with her Death with hurting the people he loved most as well.  He hadn’t want to see it first, but there was more of John in himself, than he’d thought. He hated every inch of it.

John had once driven Sam away. Had used Dean to lay his duties as a father upon and go wild with rage on monsters.  Had asked Dean to kill his own brother at some point.

Dean didn’t want to be like his father. Maybe he’d been a good man once. A loving husband, and a caring father, but that all had died that night in their home with his mother burning at the ceiling. It had left a broken man, blind for the good things in his life, for the people who needed him still, for the true battles that had been there to fight them. Like caring for his sons and giving them love...helping them to grieve.

 

Dean made a decision before he turned off his own light to perhaps find some hours of restless sleep: He’d stop being like the Winchester that had failed so many times, and would start to be like the ones he cared about and loved. More like Sam. Who used words and tried himself with emotional shit and stuff.  He knew he could be better. He knew, he had already surpassed John in the ability to care and love.

But he would have to be aware of the moments in which he likely would act out again. And stop. For Sammy. For Cas. For he fucking world out there, that still needed him.

For Mary.

Because now that Dean thought about it: had Mary been there, had seen what he had been about to do: she’d stopped him. She’d told him to be better than that. Find another way. Forgive. Heal.

Thinking about his mother still hurt. But thinking about the man she would love to see him become, gave him strength.

With that thought in mind he drifted off.

 

* * *

He didn’t know what time it was or how long he’d been passed out, but he recognized that he was not outside anymore. He was warm and he could hear the hum of the bunkers machines to keep the air clean.  When he began to rise he also recognized he didn’t wear his coat.

When he turned on the light he saw some of his clothes trapped over the chair in front of his desk. So he was in his room. The Winchesters had brought him back.

He couldn’t think “home”, because it felt strange and foreign to him now.

He rose to his feet and took stock of his state. His energy-level was low. His grace only vaguely recognizable as a low fizzle in the back of his mind. He’d used most of it to smite all the dead creatures that had attacked them earlier.

He looked around and then tried to stand. A bid wobbly on his feet he went over to get his Jacked and coat. When he was clothed again he stopped and looked around.

The room felt strange. Everything felt strange.

He felt alone.

Because he was.

 

Castiel thought about what to do. He could look for Sam and Dean and hear what they wanted to do next. But to think about being in their presence after what they’d done, made him weary. He loved them, both of them. He loved Dean, more than the hunter probably was aware of, but he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t go back to them and pretend that they hadn’t lied into his face. That Dean didn’t tell him he’d be dead to him. That Dean had accused him of being at fault for Jack’s outburst and with that for Mary’s death. Of course Castiel felt guilty about all of this. He had promised to care for Jack and hadn’t been there to stop him. To bring him away from all of this. He should’ve been able to see what was about to happen, but he hadn’t. And for that he felt at fault.

He missed Mary. Her death pained him to no end.

But he also missed the Dean he knew. The righteous man he had rescued and fought with.

It had never bothered him that Dean was a bit rough around his edges. Somehow that always had been part of his charm for Castiel. But he’d gone too far and Castiel knew, that if he stayed in his presence any longer, there was a real chance for him to begin to loathe the person Dean had become. And he didn’t want that to happen.

So Castiel made a decition too.

He searched the room for things he would carry with him. He didn’t find much.

Then he faced his door and began to walk towards it.

To leave the bunker.

To leave the Winchesters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment if you have thoughts, or just want to encourage me!  
> Leave a Kudo if you like it.  
> Tell me if you want to read more of this story!
> 
>  
> 
> Consider to visit my other storys as well. :-)
> 
> I am currently writing this here and Mister Undercover regulary. But i try to finish all my works in progress :-)


	4. Worth praying to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is leaving.  
> Sam is thinking.  
> Dean is realising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :This is written after i’ve watched the first ep oft Season 15. And I have to admit, though will go a completely different direction with my story and how to take things, I love the hell out of Belphagor. And I decided to take him into this at some point. It only needs little adjustemts. And the rest will go as I write. I never really know what the characters are doing until my fingers write it down.  
> So…we’ll all be surprised.  
> I start this chapter with not knowing, if Cas will really leave or not. I will let him decide.
> 
> I'm still without beta...so sorry for all the mistakes i miss.

* * *

 

Castiel peered around the corner. He didn’t want to wake the brothers who, hopefully, were deep asleep after tonight’s fight. At part of the angel felt bad for leaving without saying anything.

He looked back at his room and his gaze fell on his desk. Perhaps he should at least leave a note, so that the Winchesters would not start to look for him. So that they’d know that he would not abandon their work and was planning to hunt down the escaped souls of hell. And by doing so, perhaps find a way to cast them back to the pit altogether.

He went back and took out a paper and a pen and began writing. Just a short note.

 

“ _I can’t stay with you. I already lost everything, but to loose what I thought was my family is too much. I want to remember us the way we were before all of this. It is the only thing that might keep me going. I don’t feel like I belong here any more…and I start to think, that I might never have. Don’t look for me, call me, or try to contact me in any other way. Don’t pray to me. Be assured that I will hunt down as many souls as possible and sent them back. I hope that you at least feel the decency to give my son a proper funeral. He was never a bad person, though you think of him differently. I trust that you will at least honor my wish in that regard as a reminder of all the times we were brothers in arms._

_I ~~still love~~ …hope you two will be well and successful in the future. Even if it was a lie, I felt family with you. And for that I thank you._

_Castiel_

 

He felt somewhat uneasy to give the brothers so much information about his feelings, though he didn’t know why it made him feel strange. But at least they’d been a good team for years. Trusted each other and cared for each other in some way. So he felt like he owned them that much when leaving them and with it, one of their best assets. He had no illusions that part of the reason why the Winchesters probably had kept him close for all these years, was the powers he could offer in battle. And he could not really be mad about that. That had always been his true purpose: being a tool and a weapon. When he really thought about it: when he had been weak, Dean had not hesitated to throw him out of the bunker and keep him away. Because in human form he’d been nothing but a burden to the brothers. 

Despite knowing that on some level, he’d began to feel loved in some way. Had felt like he’d belonged. After Dean had fought for him so often. Had searched for him in purgatory. Had told him he was family. And on some level, of that Castiel was sure, Dean probably had felt fondness towards him. That was just human nature. Like they did with a pet or a car that served them well.  But when things became useless or did not work to their will, humans tended to get rid of them.

Like they had done with Jack, when his soulless being had begun to be more of a burden, than an asset. When it had coursed harm. If he had been one of the brothers, they’d done everything to find a way to get his soul back or help him. But Dean hadn’t. First he had tried to lock a frightened kid into a sarcophagus, then he’d decided to kill him. Without consulting anybody about it.

And what hurt more than he had realized at first: Sam had obviously agreed to that. And that had shocked Castiel to a degree he hadn’t known was possible. Because it had always felt like Sam really had loved Jack! He had cared for him when Castiel hadn’t been able to. Had taught him, had been patient with him and when he’d been dying, had been there with him all the way. Sam of all people, Castiel thought, must’ve felt for Jack like a surrogate father. But obviously he had been wrong about that and that made his stomach turn in the most unpleasant ways. Dean overreacting he was used too, but Sam always had been the voice of sense among the brothers…and if even Sam wasn’t able to pretend any more…then there was truly no hope for what he’d thought was their family.

So Sam’s willingness to let Dean kill Jack had been the last straw for Castiel to consider the most of the family talk of Dean for something he’d just told him to make the angel stay and feel included. And at the end, that was not different to what his angelic family had done all these years.

Castiel knew that Dean was all about family, but that would never really include non-humans. The angel was sure, that this was mostly because of the uprising of the boys as hunters, by John.  A life formed by a dominant father telling you, that everything non-human was a monster and therefore only worth to die. Castiel knew exactly how that felt, because it was the exact same thing his family had told him about humans. That they were beneath them. But he had begun to doubt that, and still believed that it was wrong.

 

Chuck had proven that they were all the same: Just pawns on a board to play a game to the creator’s amusement. But he would not let his father make him be a pawn any longer! He’d been taught of free will and he was pretty sure that Chuck was not able to interfere with that or he’d simply had made Dean to pull the trigger anyways.

Castiel imagined it like this: Life was a maze, designed by chuck. And his little pawns were in it to move in the curves and corners. But he only was able to alter the maze, not the free will he’d given to his creation. Because if he would have to choreograph every decision: there would be no fun in watching them, no excitement.

 Free will was not an illusion. I might the only advantage they really had against an otherwise omnipotent being.  

 

Castiel sighed with his heart beating heavy inside his ribcage. He had to keep going. Had to fight the evil his creator had released from hell. Had to fight for the things he thought were right, but it hurt to feel alone in this. He already missed what he’d thought had been his chosen family. Their movie nights, Dean teaching him about human customs…talking with Sam about lore and history. It burned inside…ready to consume him, to take away his will for going further, but that was exactly the reason why he had to go. He couldn’t bear one more day of Dean looking at him with this cold look in his eyes. With Sam standing beside and saying nothing to come to his aid, trying to talk sense into his brother and show, that there was still some family left to fight for.

If he would be forced to live through this one more day, he felt certain that he would lose his drive altogether, because it hurt too much. One the one side is was a rather egoistic thing to do. He should be able to just bare it and fight with the brothers regardless of how Dean treated him. Because they were stronger as team, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay. He just couldn’t.

The thought alone paralyzed him to a degree that would prevent him from being of the best use possible in this situation. And Castiel didn’t want that. He had to keep going, not roll into a ball of frustration every minute alone and lose his grip after every time Dean treated him like…like shit, like everything bad that happened was basically Castiel’s fault.

Because it wasn’t true, the angel thought desperately. Castiel had to believe it wasn’t true.

 

With renewed purpose he began to walk out of his room, out of this life with the Winchesters, out to a life alone. Luckily the brothers were in their rooms and he was able to sneak into the garage silently. His heart went heavy again when he looked at the bed of his truck. Jack’s body was still lying there. A sheet covering his corpse. Castel stashed his duffel in the cabin of the truck and hoped onto the loading area. He scooped the body up, feeling he was cold and beginning to stiffen and it made water collect at the corners of his eyes.

He had promised to keep him safe. Had tried to take him away somewhere safe, but he’d been too late. The maze Chuck had set up for them had already led to a dead end with only one solution. A part of Castiel, the part that still felt for the older Winchester, was relieved that Dean hadn’t pulled the trigger to kill Jack himself. That he’d decided not to follow the script. But Castiel was sad that it had not been because Dean had recognized that it was the wrong cause of action, but he was pissed to dance to Chucks music any longer.

Castiel was not only thankful for Dean not doing that shot because it had killed some part of his humanity, but also he really did not want the older Winchester to die. He really didn’t.   He still cared for the brothers. Those feelings would never really fade no matter of their intentions. Because for a short time, Castiel had felt nearly happy. And he would try to carry that with him for the rest of his existence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered touching  the dead body one last time and then he started his engine and drove out of the bunker’s garage. He did not really have a destination. First step was: just away from the brothers as far as possible. Then pitch camp at some place safe and look for spirit activity and perhaps try to start making a plan to defeat God himself.

 

* * *

 

Something didn’t feel right.

Sam awoke in his dark room, his shoulder still throbbing like hell and additional to that, he felt bruises all over his body from the fight. He grabbed for his phone and turned it on. It was early in the morning. Too early to really rise, but too late to go back to sleep either. And they had work to do anyway. Make plans, access their situation, so he could just as well stand up and do something.

This time they had just jelled for the biggest fucking shit possible and gotten it right away. Because how was the prospect of fighting the creator of the fucking multiverse not the worst outcome possibility thinkable? Sam was not eager to find out if there was any way their situation could be more fucked up than this.

 He was just lucky that he had the best men possible with him to fight this. He really hoped that Dean would come back to himself in some way and get a grip on his feelings. Because their mother would not want them to fight each other, but hold together and fight the bad boys. With a sting his thoughts wandered to the dead body lying in their garage, waiting to be buried.

Jack hadn’t deserved this and Sam felt somewhat ashamed that he had been too powerless to speak up to his brother when he should have. It had just been too much. He had tried to find a solution, find a better way, but seeing Dean like this, nearly  losing him to Michael or the ordeal to get rid of the archangel, it had numbed him in a way he had last time felt when being around his father. And he hated that he ever had to feel like that around Dean. Because he knew that Dean wasn’t like their father in the slightest. He was just unable to share his burdens with anybody and by doing that he made himself un-penetrable at some times. Even for Sam.

Sam had tried at some point, but he should’ve spoke up more. Should have been a border to overstep for Dean to do this. To prevent him from aiming with a gun at the head of Jack and only to consider to pull that trigger. To kill their...their surrogate son and himself along with it.

 

Sam felt horror when he thought about that he had been so close to lose all his family at once. All but Castiel. Because at some point the angel had been the one to remind them of what family was meant to mean. And a part of Sam was so proud that Castiel had come that far to feel like that and it pained him to no end to think about how the Seraphim must feel now, that he’d lost is son to his father. Just because it was like Chuck had planned the plot to end.

Sam could not imagine how that must feel for an angel that had lived millennia believing in a righteous father, and a purpose…just to know, that it all had been just a game. Nothing more.  That was even worse than just being abandoned by a father that had lost interest.

 

Sam felt a strong urge to get up and talk to Castiel. To apologize for not having fought for Jack more, to have subordinated to Dean too easily. He wanted Castiel to understand why the strength to do so had left him. Whey he had felt so powerless against the rage of his brother in that state of mind and how he thought, that that person who had acted like this, was not Dean’s true nature. That he was better than that. That Chuck only had pulled all the right strings to stress Dean out of his mind and bring him to the brink of this…this state of mind.

Same rose to his feet and padded out of his room. The bunker was silent. After the short walk to the angel’s room he cautiously knocked. There was no response from inside.

Perhaps Castiel was still out of it. He really had exhausted himself out there when going all smiting-seraph on the zombie horde. Perhaps it was better to look if he was ok, if he needed something other than rest.  Sam knocked a second time and when still no answer came, he carefully opened the door and let the dim light of the corridor fill the room enough to look inside.

He could not quite make Castiel’s form out and so he tapped closer just to be sure that Castiel, other than being asleep, was fine. But the closer he came the more he got aware of the neatly made bed with no angel or whatsoever lying in it. Something inside his stomach dropped and he hastily closed the last gap that was between him and the bed. He padded at the surface to find it perfectly cold. There had nobody been lying in this bed for a while. Panic rising inside of him, he switched on the desk light. He turned around and with a bad foreboding he ripped open the closet-doors, only to find the inside empty. Castiel never had much stuff inside of it, just his FBI suite, some other clothes they needed to work cases, a duffel and some other stuff, but it was all gone.

Sam looked around and everything  else personal  in the room was gone too. Except for a folded sheet of paper lying on the desk. With a smartphone on top it. Sam took the paper, unfolded it and read it, color leaving his face with every beautifully written line.

_That mustn’t be! Not again! Not now!_

“DEAN,” he shouted franticly while rushing out of the door and running towards his brothers room. He didn’t waste any time with knocking and just busted into the room. The light was on, and Dean sitting on top of his bed, headphones on staring at the wall. When he saw Sam he looked at him surprised and also annoyed, pushing the earpieces back a bit.

“You should be resting, what….”

“Cas is gone!”

“What?”

Dean watched his brother in disbelief taking the paper from him, when he held it out.  His eyes wandered over the paper franticly, widening with every second.

“Son of a…” he growled while smashing the paper on his bed , and ripping his headphones all the way down from his head. He practically jumped into his boots, not wasting any time tying them, before he took off.

“I’ll come with you!”

“The hell you do! This’s ‘cause of me and only i can make him come back! You stay here and wait in case he comes to his senses and heads back or calls. Hack the traffic cameras for his truck in case I’m too late. We have no idea how long he’s gone!”

 _Don’t let it be too late_ , Dean thought.

 

Dean could tell Sam wasn’t happy about staying back, but it was the best decision that one of them would try to track the seraphim down. Without his phone Sam wouldn’t be able to scan for his GPS and they hadn’t installed a tracker in Cas’s car yet. So the traffic cameras where their best shot.

Sam nodded in agreement and Dean ran towards the garage.

As expected, Castiel’s truck was gone. Dean tried to ignore the corpse now lying on the floor and hurried to open Baby’s doors and get behind the wheel. Less than a second later, the Impalla rushed out of the garage with the wheel making squeaking noises. Dean had only seconds to decide which way to go. But he knew the angel well enough to make an educated guess. Cas would want to bring as much space between him and the brothers as possible and he’d try to go a different direction as they probably would when starting to hunt down the escaped souls.  Dean also had a feeling that he somehow would know where to drive by simply following his gut about this.

It was hard not to automatically pray to Cas to get his goddamn angelic ass back into the bunker, because that was the first thing that dean felt like doing. He’d always prayed to Cas. But if he did this right now, the angel would know he was coming and would take even more precautions to not be caught by Dean. And that could not be happening.

So Dean didn’t pray and in a short moment he thought how ironic that was, that he had to stop himself from praying. He remembered a time, where he hadn’t done it at all, not even when being close to death. But that was before he’d met Castiel. Before he’d learned that there was angels and God and demons. Before he’d learned that not all angels where dicks and that despite that God was not worth praying to, that there was one single being on this damned planed that deserved it. And that being  was Castiel.

He had to find that dumbass and talk sense into him.

Tell him he was needed.

Tell him he was family.

Apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be able to post the next in a week. But fall is a difficuld season for me and sometimes depression slows me down...also inktober is going on...sooo...i try my best to update regulary, but i cannot promise.  
> Some nice comments can motivate me a lot. When i know there a people waiting and enjoying...that can be the kick to my ass i need to get to work. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> If there are some readers wanting a second chapter...if wished for..i can do that. That'd be some fighting on earth. Some Cas whump...and Dean the fuck apologizing to the best angel in creation!


End file.
